Page 309 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
Brody feigns a gasp. “The horror,” he says dryly.
I pull a cookie out of the bag Ann gave me and toss it through his window and into his lap. “Shut up and eat a cookie.” I turn and cross the last few yards to my truck. I finish my Cheerwine, then drop the empty bottle, the bag of cookies, and the birdseedinto the front seat before moving to the back and opening the tailgate.
Brody follows slowly behind me, stopping again once his truck is perpendicular to mine. “Ann made your nose too big,” he says, studying the cookie for a brief moment before taking an enormous bite of my frosted face.
He’s not wrong about my nose. But I wasn’t about to bethat guyand complain. “What are you doing here? Want to make yourself useful and help me load up this mulch?”
“Just need to pick up some new carabiners. Wait, this isyourtruck?” Brody asks, like he’s noticing it for the first time. He lets out a low whistle. “I thought you weren’t getting it until next week.”
“The dealership delivered it this morning,” I say as I reach for the first bag of mulch. I lift it onto my shoulder, then toss it toward the back of the truck bed.
“Theydeliveredit?”
I grab a second bag, then grin. “For a small fee.”
He rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t give me any more trouble than that. In different circumstances, I'd be perfectly happyto go buy a car like a normal person. But Asheville’s a decently sized city. Even half a dozen bystanders in a car dealership can interfere with me getting things done.
Funny the things I’ve started to miss over the years. Grocery shopping. Hanging out in a coffee shop and reading a book. Talking to a woman who doesn't already know my name.
I’m not saying fame isn’t worth it.
I am saying it has a lot to do with why I moved back to North Carolina in the first place. I can’t live completely under the radar in Silver Creek—the bag of face cookies in my truck clearly indicates as much—but I can come close. At least closer than I could in California.
I heft another bag onto my shoulder and toss a look at my brother, who has made no move to get out of his truck. “You're seriously going to watch me instead of helping?”
He grins. “It’s fun to watch you do all the work.”
“At least come over to the house and help me plant,” I say. “I’m finally filling in the beds behind the pool.”
In reality, I don’t care if he actually helps. I like landscaping. The immediate payoff of working, digging in the dirt, then seeing the fruits of your labors. I’ve done it everywhere I’ve lived, even after I started making enough to pay entire crews of people to do it for me.
But helping or not, I’d happily take Brody’s company. My house was finished almost a year ago, but work kept me traveling for months, and I’ve only been in North Carolina full-time for a couple of weeks. I was looking forward to some family time, but I’ve seen less of my siblings than I hoped I would.
“Wish I could,” Brody says. “Kate’s heading out of town, which means I’ve got to hurry home to get River.”
A strange feeling pulses through my chest.
It’s weird enough that all my siblings are married now. I’m still getting used to the fact that they’re alsoparents.Brody and Kate’s daughter, River, is only three months old. A real, tiny human who depends on them for everything. Food. Shelter. Sleep. And Brody is acting like it’s no big deal.
Most days, I feel like I can hardly take care of myself.
“You could probably call Perry,” Brody says, mentioning our oldest brother. “I don’t think he has anything going on today.”
“Nope. Jack has a soccer game.”
“Lennox?” Brody asks.
I glance at my watch. “Already at the restaurant.”
“Sorry, man,” Brody says. “If not for River, I really would come.”
I wave away his concern. “Don’t worry about it. Nate will help if I really need it.”
It’s not like I blame my siblings for having busy lives. It’s just annoying when I’ve got six weeks of time to kill before the press cycle starts up forTurning Tides,the movie I was filming down in Costa Rica. Not long after, I’ll be back in Los Angeles to film the thirdAgent Twelvemovie, which is making me eager to spend as much time as possible with them now.
Brody nods, but his expression doesn’t shift, his brow furrowed in that worried big-brother way. He hesitates another moment, then climbs out of his truck, leaving it idling in the parking lot, and helps me load the last few bags of mulch.
I close the tailgate and dust off my hands. “Thanks.”
